The Everwind
by sapereaude13
Summary: A soiree on Al-Cid's newest airship, an unwanted suitor, and some shenanigans in a storage room with a sky pirate. Just another night for the Queen of Dalmasca. Balthier/Ashe. Postgame.


Al-Cid raised his glass, the wine sloshing around within as the ship shuddered once more. Ashe was ready to lose her stomach contents. Why the Rozarrian's pilot insisted on flying towards the storm clouds instead of away from it boggled her. She couldn't wait to be on solid ground once more, but the evening was far from over.

Lord Margrace's newest pleasure cruiser, the _Everwind_, was on her maiden voyage this evening, and most of Ivalice's finest had flocked to take part in the ceremony. Ashe almost wished for a minor skirmish or uprising to take her attention. She found events like this altogether pointless, especially when some Rozarrians remained in utter poverty. She downed a glass of water, having given up on the Bhujerban wine that the other guests were imbibing like the nectar of the gods. Ashe had an appointment to keep that evening – something that barely kept a grin from the corners of her mouth.

"Some turbulence, friends!" Al-Cid announced, the liquid flying from his glass and onto the guests in front of him. "But music, of course! We must have music!" He gestured wildly, and some musicians started to play although their music stands were in danger of toppling over at any moment. Al-Cid caught her eye, and she wanted to look away. But it was too late. He was on his way over, arm linked with his altogether colorless and bland cousin Fernan.

A marriage accord with the Rozarrians would be a fine match both politically and financially, but she could barely believe that there existed such a dull personage in the Margrace clan. Most that she'd been acquainted with were far closer to Al-Cid in temperament...but Fernan was about as interesting as a potted plant. But she would play nice, if only to avoid the whispers of the gathered multitudes. That Dalmasca's Queen remained unmarried even now was the gossip of Ivalice. Again, she longed for some rebellion to take the people's minds off of her personal life. She was perfectly content in her current situation.

She held out her hand for Fernan to kiss. "A pleasure to see you again, Lord Margrace."

Al-Cid cleared his throat, and Fernan nearly jumped from his skin. It appeared that Al-Cid had to serve as the poor fellow's puppet master, coach, et cetera. The man was obviously intimidated by her chilly manner. Of course, she was only chilly towards people who wished to court her – something her ministers found most irritating. Ashe reveled in making men squirm.

"Your Majesty honors our...the uh, our ship with her...I mean, your presence this evening," the man stumbled out, a flush breaking out on his bronze skin. Al-Cid was only smiling because he was intoxicated enough for five men at this point in the evening.

"Ashelia, my cousin Fernan, he does research on your fine country," Al-Cid slurred, shoving him at her. She barely had time to place her water glass on a passing tray before Fernan had awkwardly grasped her around the waist. Ashe waved off her bodyguards, who kept watch a few feet away. Fernan Margrace was harmless. Too harmless, she lamented, wishing they'd come separate him from her.

Al-Cid wandered off to find some Archadian heiress to bed, leaving her with his hapless relative. She tried to play along with the farce, knowing the minutes were ticking away. She had somewhere else to be. "Lord Fernan, you study Dalmascan history?"

He finally removed his hands from her, pushing his spectacles up his long, pointed nose. "Er, yes, Majesty...I...find the heritage and Galtean, er..."

Her bodyguards had to turn away and hide their faces. Even those sworn to protect her had to look away in embarrassment for her. One of them was even shaking in laughter. She scowled. "My lord, would it please you to speak somewhere less..." She glanced around the room, seeing many whispering and staring already. "Less irritating?"

Fernan brightened. The man belonged locked away in a state archive, not aboard a ship that would surely be the Rozarrian royal family's largest bastard production facility. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along, taking the time to greet a few of the gossiping horde. Her bodyguards knew about the dagger in her handbag – she'd be safe. The lower deck was noisier with the proximity of the ship's engines, but anything was better than the stifling party above. And she had a prior engagement – she just had to ditch the Rozarrian.

They moved down the corridor before she stopped them in front of the fourth door on the left. If memory served...

"My lady, I...my cousin, he encourages this. I beg your apologies..."

She shook her head. "It is not your fault, my lord..."

"You...you..." His stuttering was increasing even more now that they were alone, furthering her frustration. "You are gracious to me, I know that..."

The _Everwind_ shook viciously, and Fernan braced his fall by sticking out his hands...their unfortunate resting place being her bosom. She rolled her eyes. Of all the luck.

"My lady!" Fernan cried in shame. "Forgive me!" And of course, he was still not moving his hands.

"Fernan," she hissed, backing away from him and against the bulkhead. He had to give up and leave her be sooner or later.

He leaned closer, placing a shaky hand on either side of her. "But it is good for both countries if we are...how do you say..."

"We don't say," she warned him. Had Al-Cid pushed the poor man to come on to her? Coming down with him had been a mistake – but she had to get in the room behind her.

He took her hand and kissed it, trying desperately to convey a fraction of the charm that his charismatic cousin possessed. "I study Dalmasca so I might love her people as you do." She balled her other hand into a fist as he leaned forward again to kiss her cheek.

"Fernan, you do not want to be doing this. We are on shaky enough economic terms with you," she admitted huffily. "If I slap you and word gets to your cousin, I may lose my grain imports for the next decade..."

He inhaled her perfume and sighed. "You enrapture me, madam...I am...I am..." He kissed her neck now, poking out his tongue against her skin. She gritted her teeth. "I am under your spell, pale Rabanastran flower..."

She put her hand back and felt for the doorknob. With one swift movement, she opened it and slipped away from Fernan's lips, slamming the door in his face and turning the lock. Ashe leaned back against it with a heavy sigh. The light in the room was faint, and her eyes were greeted with the sight of several large trunks in the shadows. A storage room of some sort. How long would she be able to hide? Hopefully he'd go away.

He wouldn't.

There was a knocking at the door. "My lady, have...have I caused offending to you?" His accent was growing unbearable. She didn't even notice the trunk in the corner of the room move until it scraped across the floor.

Her eyes widened as he appeared from his hiding place. At least he wasn't inside of the damned thing. "Took you long enough to get down here! Bleeding hot hiding behind containers of Margrace family trinkets," he complained, kicking the trunk.

She smirked. "He's on the other side of the door, Balthier," she whispered harshly.

He walked over and smiled. "Right now?" he mouthed, and her eyes strained to see him as they still adjusted to the lessened light.

She nodded, wanting to move away but he was too close, too fast. He had a hand on either side of her as Fernan had, but she was considerably more interested in this suitor. It was a risky plan. In fact, it was a stupid plan, but he'd wanted to see her before leaving on some ridiculous adventure, and the event aboard Al-Cid's ship had been scheduled for months. He either smuggled his way aboard or went treasure hunting without seeing her, and she was pleased with the decision he'd made.

"We should postpone. I need to get him back to the party," she mumbled quietly.

"I just hid behind a trunk for you," he said, his breath warm against her ear. She bit her lip as he ran a finger from her neck to the top of her bodice. "I'm not going anywhere now."

"My lady!" Fernan announced, knocking once more. "I am sorry for being so forward..."

Balthier's lips caressed her shoulder as he shoved aside the thin strap of her dress. She splayed her fingers against the door, curling them and digging into the wood as he rested his other palm against her hip. "It was very rude what you did!" she called back, stifling a moan as Balthier nipped at the skin of her neck.

"I know, Your Majesty. I acted out of character..."

Balthier kissed her then, muffling her cry as he slid his hand beneath the hem of her dress. His fingers inched further and further upward as Fernan continued his apologies on the other side of the door.

"...realize that my cousin...he wishes for us to marry..."

"That's a problem for me, Fernan..." she managed to squeak out before Balthier selfishly grasped her chin and pulled her mouth back to his.

"...but madam, you are of marrying age and a woman alone to rule Dalmasca?"

Ashe broke away from Balthier, grasping his shoulders tight enough to make him visibly wince. "Are you questioning my ability to rule?"

"Oh! Oh no, goodness no, Your Highness!"

"Because I require no man," she informed Fernan haughtily, hastily pulling the buttons of Balthier's shirt open in her fury. "And if you think to be my consort, you are mistaken!"

Balthier smiled as she took a bit of control back, unbuckling his belt and undoing the clasp of his trousers. "A bit hasty, aren't we?" Balthier whispered.

"You be quiet," she snapped at him.

"My lady?" Fernan inquired.

She rolled her eyes and moved herself and Balthier aside to the storage room wall. "I said to be quiet, Lord Margrace. Take your antiquated views on women elsewhere!"

Balthier had his fingers poised to pull down her undergarments when there was a slight commotion outside the door. "Queen Ashelia, something...something is the matter here?" called the drunken Al-Cid from the other side.

Ashe groaned. "Control your cousin!" Balthier was clearly annoyed now, pulling her against him possessively and claiming her lips roughly.

The doorknob rattled again. "Please, we are all friends here...do not lock yourself away, my lady."

"I am not..." Balthier kissed her. "Not locking myself..." He did so again. "Away!"

"Please, my lady, come out of there." Balthier's hands were under her dress again while Al-Cid noisily and drunkenly reprimanded his cousin. "What have you said to her? We rely on Dalmascan exports! I cannot have the Queen of Dalmasca hiding in a broom closet!"

"Balthier, stop," she whispered as he left a trail of kisses all along her jaw line.

"Cousin, I swear! I only did what...well, maybe I shouldn't have..."

"You don't want me to stop," Balthier muttered against her lips.

"What did you do to her, Fernan?"

"Ohh!" she exclaimed at Balthier's touch.

The doorknob rattled again, and Balthier chuckled. "My lady! Please, open the door...are you hurt?"

"Fernan, go find a key!"

"No!" she cried in shock. Balthier took advantage of this moment and kissed her until she could barely breathe, muffling her subsequent cry as his deft fingers worked magic on her flesh.

"But cousin, I have greatly offended..."

"Balthier, stop! Please!" she said in his ear, trying to tickle him and make him break away from her.

"Fernan!"

"But don't you have a skeleton key in your pockets, cousin?"

Ashe shoved Balthier away quicker than a chocobo runs to a fresh batch of greens. He stumbled backwards, falling onto his backside. The doorknob rattled again. "Queen Ashelia, Ashe please...it is your friend Al-Cid...can't you let us in?"

Balthier was wincing and cursing under his breath, and she helped him hobble back behind one of the large Margrace trunks. "I'm sorry!" she muttered.

He pulled her down atop him. "Come on, this is the only apology I'll accept," he told her, and she let him kiss her.

"You're mussing my dress," she complained against his mouth.

Balthier gave her backside an appreciative pat. "I'll muss more than that if they stay out in the hall..."

"Look cousin, the key is right there..."

Ashe broke away in haste, shoving the trunk across the floor to cover him. She was seated, prim and proper, atop it when Al-Cid and Fernan unlocked the door and stood in the archway.

"What?" she asked haughtily as the two men gaped at her.

Al-Cid held onto the door frame desperately, his shirt untucked and lipstick all over his face. He'd clearly come from some encounter or other to check up on his cousin's exploits. "We...well, will you be rejoining us, my lady?" he slurred at her. Fernan cowered behind Al-Cid, his eyes apologetic behind the thick spectacles.

She stiffened as she felt fingers on her back, only to realize it was Balthier's hand attempting to zip up the back of her dress. He must have been concealed well enough behind her in the shadows as the other two men seemed not to notice. Balthier was able to get it halfway up before his hand stalled, and he let a lazy finger drift up and down her spine.

Ashe closed her eyes, trying to ignore the sensation. "Lords Margrace," she addressed the pair in the doorway, keeping her voice steady. Balthier was getting back at her for knocking him down. "I require...five more minutes."

Balthier poked her hard.

"Ten more minutes."

Poke.

"I'm actually not quite sure," she explained. "It is the Bhujerban wine affecting me so..."

Al-Cid shrugged. "I shall inform your bodyguards of your whereabouts. Er...please feel better?"

Fernan bowed ostentatiously. "Please, accept my apologies!"

"Yes, yes," she muttered, waving them off. "I will return to the party shortly."

The door closed with a decisive snap, and she felt a familiar mouth against the nape of her neck. "Not if I have anything to say about it," he whispered against her skin. "Shall we?"

She smiled and closed her eyes. "We shall."


End file.
